


bruises, on both my knees for you

by cassi0pei4



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Grooming Language, Group Sex, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Moresomes, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassi0pei4/pseuds/cassi0pei4
Summary: Presuming Zelda to be under the Caligari spell, Faustus uses her in a demonstration of how warlocks should treat their witches in front of his most devoted disciples.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please mind the warnings. There are many things in this that can be triggering, I've tried to flag for all of them, but if I missed some please let me know. Some will be relevant more for later chapters. 
> 
>  
> 
> If you think I'm a terrible person for writing this...I don't really disagree.
> 
>  
> 
> (title from Bad Guy by Billie Eilish)

"There's nothing quite so satisfying, boys, as enjoying the love of a good witch."

Faustus was seated in his wingback, leather armchair, the fire roaring behind him,. The surrounding members of the Judas society snickered and smirked over their glasses, watching their leader with an attention that bordered on worship. She watched as with each passing moment he drank in their devotion, as though his wine alone could not quench his thirst.

He lifted the goblet to his lips again. Zelda, standing dutifully at his side, found herself wishing that the Bordeaux within was laced with Hilda's cyanide.

"Zelda?" Faustus's voice was sing-song, teasing, like she was a errant child. He tipped the goblet from side to side as he lowered it. It was empty.

"Oh!" Zelda kept her voice in that breathy pitch she knew he preferred and tried to move mechanically, like the doll she was meant to be. She pivoted, moving precisely, carefully, bending only at the waist to grasp the decanter and then returning to her original position to refill the glass in Faustus' grasp.

She was his ballerina, to be tossed and twirled at whim -- at least for another day.

As she returned the decanter to its table, she turned to find Faustus's dark eyes appraising her.

"Zelda, dearest," She schooled her face into its blankest expression. "You must be tired, standing all day."

"Husband?"

"Come," Faustus pat his lap with his hand, "sit," he hit it again, smirking. Once upon a time that smug confidence, differently employed, could have her wet and willing faster than any touch. Zelda was dismayed to find that, though she felt nausea building at the thought of touching him, it hadn't yet lost all its power.

Zelda spun, her full skirt twirling like a dancer's, landing perfectly perched on Faustus's knee, her own legs daintily crossing, her hands folded gracefully atop.

She could feel a dozen, young, greedy eyes tracing over her every inch, from her pointed foot in patent leather heels, to the curve of her calf, to her lace petticoat, daringly peaking out from under the skirt of her silk-satin dress, to her décolletage, just a bit too exposed to be truly proper, to the long line of her neck, partially obscured by her red waves.

Faustus brushed those waves to one side, like a child petting his favorite doll. Or a prized pony.

"Exquisite," he murmured, stroking one hand around her hip to pull her closer. Zelda fought the urge to tense at his touch, but only barely.

"Isn't she, boys?" Faustus's hand slid up her waist until it was cupped under one breast, as though holding it out for their inspection.

Zelda held her breath as the assembled men murmured their agreement, one or two even licking their lips as their eyes raked over her.

Faustus scoffed at their approval.

"But really, you can't properly appreciate such beauty like this." Faustus pinched the fabric the covered her chest, as though he found it offensive.

"Zelda, this dress is quite constricting," pulling again at the fabric as though to demonstrate.

"Husband?"

Her heart was hammering.

His smile widened, "You'd be more comfortable if you removed it."

"Comfortable?" Zelda's voice slipped only for a moment before saccharine tone returned. "Yes."

Zelda stood as though in a trance. For a split second, she considered her position. She could cast a diversion and escape. She was certain enough of her prowess to know that with the element of surprise on her side, Faustus was no match, even with his goons to support him. But if she ran, what then? What of Ambrose, and Sabrina, and Hilda? What of Prudence and her siblings and the Academy?

Zelda had made her decision when she had returned wide awake into Faustus's supposed thrall. She would not change it now.

With a twist of her fingers her dress and petticoat vanished to a satisfyingly audible intake of breath from her audience of Judas devotees. She left on her heels and her lingerie, fine mesh and lace in a retro style to match her husband's new penchant for traditionalism.

She spun to face him again, and watched his eyes rake over her figure like he was second-guessing having an audience present for this moment.

Not a chance. He'd thrown down the gauntlet, even if he was still unaware she was cogent enough to pick it up.

Zelda straddled his lap with half her usual sensuousness and twice her usual naïveté.

She leaned down, until they were eye to eye. What she wouldn't give right now to paralyze him in this chair, ride his cock until he begged for her mercy, and then deny him any with a twist of her knife.

Instead she affected her best girlish giggle and brushed her nose against his with a happy sigh before leaning to rest her forehead on his shoulder.

"Much more comfortable, your unholy eminence."

Faustus ran a hand through her hair before gripping it gently and pulling so that she faced him again. She could feel a moment's indecision wavering in his eyes, and then they hardened, all cruel satisfaction.

"You see boys?" Faustus turned to face his disciples, "How good it is to have a witch who knows her place."


	2. Chapter 2

Zelda's blood boiled as she watched him preen. 

He set aside his wine goblet and let one hand lazily trace her breasts, circling around one nipple until it peaked and hardened at his attention. 

Anger mixed with desire and desire with shame, each fueling the other in the maelstrom of Zelda's core. Damn Faustus for knowing just how to touch her; she'd taught him too well. 

Her hips shifted as one of his nails scraped over her nipple. 

Faustus chuckled, a soft and all-too-knowing "tsk tsk", as his other hand moved to join his first, brushing and teasing her other breast. Zelda wished he'd be rougher, would pinch or pull or bite. His teasing made her tense, restless. 

"Is there something you'd like, Lady Blackwood?" Faustus stared into her eyes so intently she had to look away. 

She was caught. What would the Caligari spell have her say? As a sleepwalker through his fantasies was she bashful? Desirous? Naive? 

"Why, only to please you husband." 

Faustus smirked, his voice taunting, "Oh? And is that all you want, dearest?" 

Faustus ran one finger teasingly over the thin mesh and lace that covered her cunt. 

Zelda flinched, moving back from him until she had one heel precariously perched on the ground, before she caught herself. She pivoted her response to coyness in an instant. 

"Husband!" She made her voice breathy but shameful. 

"Now, now, Zelda," he chided. His hand eased down her arm, pivoting her gently, like a porcelain doll. Now she could see the Judas boys once more, huddled around them like a pack of wolves watching their alpha torment his prey before devouring it. 

Faustus' hands gripped her hips and pulled, so that she fell back, perched on one of his legs like a child asking Santa for Yule gifts. 

"You want to make me happy, don't you Zelda?" Faustus murmured into her ear.

Zelda's stomach twisted. "Yes, your unholy eminence." 

"Good girl." Faustus's fingers were tapping out a subtle beat on the arm of his chair. Zelda recognized it instantly, the melody of the music box that had kept her sleepwalking for days. He must know this display would push even a well-cast Caligari spell to its limits. 

Faustus continued, "It is my sacred duty to teach these young warlocks how to be proper members of the Church of Judas."

Tap, tap, tap.

"You will help me with a," he paused, searching for the right words, "a little pedagogical demonstration." 

Tap, tap, tap. 

Zelda could feel her heart racing, matching the beat of Faustus's tune, but at four times the tempo. 

She realized that perhaps he was waiting for a reply. In her best simper she choked out, "I've always been a devoted teacher." 

Faustus barked out half a laugh in response. 

"Quite right, Lady Blackwood." 

He settled her deeper in his lap, the fingers of one hand lazily stroking up and down her inner thigh, while the other abandoned it's tapping to return to her breasts. 

He turned to face his disciples once more.

"Now, boys, the first thing a warlock must manage is the witch's tendency towards greed and sluttishness." 

Something in the pit of Zelda's stomach twisted. The air in the room seemed to change instantaneously, but Faustus could have been lecturing on the finer points of pentagram construction in conjuring for all his tone reflected it. 

She tried to keep her gaze unfocused, staring off into the distance, but the lust surrounding her was intoxicating. Several of the boys were shifting uncomfortably in their trousers. One had begun to stroke himself through the fabric. Every eye was trained on her, on the hands touching her, no doubt wishing they were their own. 

Zelda would have her vengeance, for this and for all that came before and would surely come after, but for now? For now, it would do precious little to fight the waves of want from mixing with her anger and her fear and her shame. She let it all wash over her, like evening tide pulling her out to deeper waters.

"See, here," Faustus's hand slid up and up until he cupped her sex in his palm. Zelda hips canted instinctively in response. Faustus chuckled softly at her response, before shifting the thin fabric aside and sliding two fingers into her. Zelda's mouth fell open in a stifled gasp of pleasure. She was so wet she could hear his fingers teasing through her folds. 

"See how greedy she is?" Faustus pulled his fingers out abruptly to show their sheen to the crowd, before returning them, stroking her more intently. 

"The gifts our Dark Lord bestows upon witches provide them with power but all too often rob them of sense." 

Faustus's thumb rubbed circles over her clit, the lace trapped between flesh scraping deliciously. 

"Why when Zelda here is like this, she'd fuck anything on offer." Faustus murmured his next words just into her ear, "Wouldn't you, precious?"

Even perhaps pathetic, blaspheming little heretic like him. 

"Yes," Zelda said as Faustus's fingers shifted their angle. It was all Zelda could do to stop her breathy words from turning into a whining moan. 

"So a warlock must teach his witch to put the welfare of others," Faustus curled his fingers, thrusting hard, "over her own," Zelda's hips met his hand thrust for thrust, "selfish," she was so close, "desires." 

Zelda gasped as Faustus removed his hand all at once, leaning back into the chair, away from her so suddenly that Zelda nearly lost her balance. 

"My glass is empty Zelda." 

Fury coursed through her, fueled by her lack of satisfaction. She steeled herself, rising back up onto her heels and preparing to fetch the decanter once more, but Faustus halted her, one hand grasping her wrist. 

He turned to address the assembled boys. "A second lesson boys: a dutiful witch keeps herself, her husband, and her home clean and tidy." 

He couldn't possibly mean it. 

"You seem to have left a mess Zelda." He raised his fingers lazily, "Clean it up."


	3. Chapter 3

Zelda's cheeks flamed. 

Faustus held his fingers out barely higher than her waist so that Zelda had to bend down to reach them. She leaned forward, her knees locked straight, her ass displayed for the Judas boys' appraisals, closing her lips over the tips of his fingers and lapping gently, the sharp and sour taste of herself filling her mouth. 

She leaned down further and further, her lipstick smearing bright and waxy across his fingers, until the tips of her lips brushed the edges of his palm, and the tips of his fingers brushed the back of the throat. 

Faustus's nostrils flared. For all his pontificating, he was twice the slut she'd ever been and if she was to suffer through this heaven-sent farce, he damn well would too. 

She bobbed her head again, meeting his eyes with as much innocence as she could muster. He licked his lips as he watched her cupid's bow stretch and contract as she sucked. 

She bobbed again, taunting. She could hear the change in Faustus's breathing -- faster, harder. 

After a few moments, Zelda leaned back. Careful not to let her satisfaction show, she schooled her expression into blankness, rose and turned to fetch the decanter. 

As she returned to his side however, the glass container warmed suddenly in her grasp, violently twisting to her left, hard enough that she was forced to drop it. It shattered on impact, a web of razor shards ricocheting, wine spilling like blood across to floor. 

"Zelda, Zelda, Zelda," Faustus shook his head in mock exasperation, "What am I to do with you?" 

Zelda knew a charm when she felt one. He'd enchanted the decanter to fall. 

She lifted her hand to vanish the debris but Faustus beat her to it. 

"You must be more careful," he set down his glass and rose to grasp both of her hands in his, "We wouldn't want you to get hurt now, would we?"

The threat of his words echoed through her subconscious like a tidal wave. 

Faustus shook his head subtly, waiting for her response. She mirrored him, shaking her head and biting her lip, dismayed at her false-clumsiness. 

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead before turning back to the crowd. 

"Our third lesson, boys, is that it is a warlock's duty to protect his witch, even, and perhaps most especially, from herself."

The glint in Faustus's eye as he said those words had Zelda's heart rate soaring in fear and anticipation.

"Zelda here, needs something to remind her to be more careful in the future."

Zelda's face felt like it was on fire, shame and anger warring within her. She hadn't felt so chastised since Edward's tirades at her youthful indiscretions. 

"Perhaps a sore backside tomorrow would serve as a good reminder, hm?" Faustus said, as if he was explaining then need to assign extra lines to a particularly foolish pupil. 

He paused, but Zelda sensed that no reply was necessary. 

"Kneel Zelda and remove my belt." 

Her stomach twisted. How much might she have enjoyed a game like this once upon a time?

She bent as gracefully as she could, her knees hitting hard stone. She could smell the leather of his belt as it slid through each woolen loop. In her peripheral vision, she could see several of the assembled crowd shifting to get a better view. 

The leather felt heavy in her hands, much more substantial than her cat o'nine tails. This would bruise flesh before it broke it. She couldn't decide if that was a relief or a disappointment. 

She looped it around once in her hands before lifting it up for him to take. 

He met her gaze with one raised eyebrow, making no move to take it from her. 

"Yes, Zelda?" 

Bastard. 

Zelda swallowed, her mouth dry, "Please help me be more careful, your unholy eminence."

Faustus's eyes were alight with the sort of glee that she associated with his satanic sermons. 

He took the proffered belt with a smile and stepped back away from her. 

"Remove your undergarment and then over the arm of my chair, I think." 

Zelda stood, and was embarrassed to find herself feeling almost unsteady on her feet. She slipped her panties to the floor and moved to drape herself across the chair as best she could. It was an awkward position, the arms of the chair too close for her to rest her head on the seat and too far for her to rest comfortably across both arms. 

She braced herself with her hands just above her head, her back sloping down so that her ass was raised higher than the rest of her body, propped up and on offer, her face tilted towards the ravenous crowd of Judas sycophants surrounding her. 

Faustus moved closer, caressing each cheek gently in turn, before grabbing the flesh, like a farmer testing the integrity of his produce. As he did, he pressed Zelda deeper into the leather arm of the chair, her clit grinding deliciously against it. 

"Now, boys, how many lashes would you judge prudent for a witch on this occasion?"

The first voice to speak was zealous and deep. 

"Thirty!" 

"Now, now, Marcus," Faustus softly chastised, "While your fervor is admirable, the goal of punishment is the improvement of one's witch. Excessive correction may only retard progress and," he paused and Zelda could hear the smile in his voice, "spoil future enjoyment." 

Zelda squeezed her thighs together in anticipation. She was restless, her skin tingling with phantom blows. 

"How about thirteen, your unholy eminence?" 

It was so like Faustus, to enjoy building this anticipation more than the act itself. All talk; no action. 

"Very good, Dario." Faustus slowly brushed the belt across her skin as he spoke. "Yes, thirteen being a number held most sacred by our Dark Lord would be quite appropriate for a minor transgression such as this."

The anticipation was driving her so mad that the first unexpected blow was almost a relief, the stinging flesh calming and arousing all at once. 

"Zelda?" Faustus had paused, evidently waiting for something. 

But of course he was. "One," she said, her voice still steady, "Thank you, husband."

The belt slashed again, lower this time, almost hitting the tops of Zelda's thighs. 

"Two, thank you husband." 

Faustus worked up a rhythm, cross and criss-crossing reddened flesh. By the seventh lash, Zelda was floating on endorphins. The air was thick around her, full of smoke and lust. She couldn't fill her lungs fast enough. Her voice was thready. 

The next blows were softer but faster, three in quick succession. Zelda cried out on each.  
"Ten, thank you husband." 

She arched of her back deeper so that her clit pressed against the leather chair. What she wouldn't give to reach her hand down and touch herself properly. She was so close again already. 

"Notice, boys," Faustus sounded winded, panting, "how her body begs for me to continue when I stop?" He palmed her heated skin, sliding further and further down. "Why I bet even now, when she should be penitent, she'd love nothing more than to be fucked." Faustus parted her folds, fucking two fingers in roughly at such a perfect angle that Zelda couldn't stop herself from moaning in response, loud and desperate. 

She didn't care what he did now as long as he made her come and soon. 

But then his fingers were gone and the next blows were hard and carefully placed. With each Zelda's back arched to brush her core against the chair, each blow forcing her down again, in an exquisitely painful rhythm that had her whining and panting almost continuously by the last blow. 

"Thirteen, thank you husband." 

She could hear Faustus panting just as hard behind her. The belt fell to the floor with a clatter of metal on stone and then Zelda could just hear the soft snick of a zipper sliding. 

"Our fourth lesson, boys," she propped herself up on one arm, so that she could look back to watch, "is that it is a warlock's highest duty," his eyes were as black as the demon-possessed, "to take his pleasure," his hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking himself slowly, "in every way the Dark Lord provides it." 

And then with a sharp thrust, Faustus sheathed himself inside her, and Zelda's mind went white with pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point I was going to have Faustus ask Zelda to recite basically the "dark" our father, one line per hit. (What can I say, I grew up Catholic.) I decide this was over the top but I wrote it anyway: "Our Dark Lord, who art in hell, cursed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in hell. Give us this day our unearthly powers but punish our trespasses, as we punish those who trespass against us. And lead us now into temptation, as Lilith tempted Adam to be free. Amen." (Do we think they say amen?)
> 
> Also, if you're interested, a lot of Faustus's brand of misogyny here is taken from the psychology of   
> [ambivalent sexism](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ambivalent_sexism). More insidious than pure hostile sexism and more prevalent. (And, you know, less fantasy material when happening in reality.)


	4. Chapter 4

Faustus pulled her hips up to meet his own, gripping hard enough to bruise. She was bent almost in half, her arms bracing herself on the seat of his chair and she rocked back and forth with his thrusts. It was infuriatingly. His cock curved perfectly inside her but without any pressure on her clit, she was still trapped in some heaven-sent limbo. 

She wanted more. She wanted it rougher, harder, sharper, wanted to stop all this thinking and feeling and the shame that was welling up inside of her. 

Faustus hips slowed and his thrusts deepened slightly and Zelda's mouth fell open in a groan of pleasure that was positively obscene.

"Now, now, Zelda," Faustus's voice was strained, trying to keep composure, "proper witches don't moan like needy little whores." He punctuated his last three words with sharp thrusts. 

Her cunt clenched around him. She moaned even louder in response. 

"Perhaps we should gag that filthy mouth?" 

She turned and pressed her lips first into the leather and then her own forearm, futilely, each barely muffling her moans. She didn't really want them to. 

Faustus reached one arm around and brushed his fingers just above her clit. Zelda nearly screamed in response. 

"Well we can't have that," Faustus panted, removing his fingers so quickly that Zelda barely stopped herself from letting out a stream of curses. "Boys, could one of you stop my wife from sounding like such a wanton little slut?"

Zelda knew what was coming and was almost craving it now. She wanted more, needed it, needed to be overwhelmed. 

Several of them hurried forward, jockeying for position like schoolboys in presented with a tray of their favorite sweet. From this angle, Zelda could barely even make out their young faces -- was that Marcus in the center? Leo beside him? -- only their hands, thin and bony or thicker and wide, each fisting their cocks slowly, as though they were trying to stave off finishing before the show in front of them had its finale. 

Faustus combed his fingers through her hair, gathering it like reins, pulling her back as he thrust forward, so that Zelda was propped up, perpendicular, letting her mouth drop open wide, the oval of her lips inches away from one of the boys as she cried out in pleasure. 

In an instant the sound was muffled. Marcus had stepped forward, his hands gripping the sides of her head and his wide cock stretching her lips. She could hear him groan above her, and she tried to relax her mouth as he thrust in further, a counterpoint to his master behind her. 

She was a mess. Her ass was sore, still stinging with every thrust. Her usually glossy waves were knotted and tangled with sweat and salt, her lipstick was smeared beyond recognition and she could feel herself beginning to tear up as she gagged herself on the cock of a warlock probably a fifth of her age. 

She was so wet could feel herself dripping down her legs and onto the leather below. 

With a shove, Marcus's cock slipped from her lips, smacking against her cheek, as he was pushed aside by one of his brothers. Zelda cried out, panting for air, before the other boy pushed forward, roughly gripping her chin to keep her still as he thrust in, his cock hitting the back of her throat. 

Marcus must have been close. He kept stroking himself off on her left but it was only moments before he groaned his pleasure. She could feel his cum drip down her chin onto the chair below more of the Judas boys came to crowd around her. 

"Such a good witch Zelda," Faustus's voice was strained, "showing these boys all the hospitality of the Church of Judas." 

She lost track of whose hand was where, of who she was touching and who was touching her. All she knew was that she was hurtling towards an orgasm, was so close she could taste it, underneath and intermingled with the salt and bitter taste of cum. 

Faustus's bent again, reaching around and touching her with purpose, rubbing her clit hard enough that it burned with pleasure.

"Perhaps we'll make a regular event of it, hm?" 

Faustus grasped one of Zelda's legs, pulling so that her knee bent, propping her open even wider on the chair.

"Office hours with Lady Blackwood, wet and willing and on her knees?"

The corners of her vision blurred. She couldn't take in air fast enough, could barely hold herself upright. Her whole world had narrowed to the feel of tight clenching muscles, from her spasming cunt to her aching arms and legs and jaw and back again. It hurt so perfectly, aching and all-consuming and Zelda wasn't sure it would ever stop. 

It was only as her climax began to wane that she realized Faustus had barely slowed his pace. 

"Good girl, Zelda. Very nice. We'll have that again, I think."

~

She came again, twice, sore and raw and ravenous, with Faustus murmuring in her ear all the while. 

When Faustus had finally finished, she felt him slip from inside her as a dozen pairs of feet shuffled towards the door. The show had ended; the audience was leaving. 

She pushed herself upright despite protesting muscles and with a few gestures had herself reclothed, clean and pristine once again. A spell like this would fade quickly, but her magic could at least grant her some vague semblance of dignity. 

Faustus was adjusting his own clothes, sipping the wine that had been tossed aside and forgotten during the earlier festivities. 

The room smelled of sex and sweat and wood smoke. She could feel it seeping into her, like oil into fertile ground. She couldn't stand it. She summoned a cigarette and lit it with one of the candles on the table. Too lethargic to even search out her customary cigarette holder, she held it between her fingers and inhaled deeply. 

She could use one of Hilda's healing draughts, a hot bath, and a week's worth of sleep, in that order. But the cigarette was a decent substitute. 

Faustus looked up at his wife and found himself almost taken aback at the sight. There was something so nostalgic about watching Zelda, leaning back, pursed red lips blowing out spirals of smoke like some bejeweled medieval dragon. 

For a moment he was so caught up in the vision that he forgot that he'd believed to have cajoled her out of this unseemly little habit. 

Faustus moved to her side with a vague sense of foreboding, his hand closing around the cigarette as Zelda withdrew it from her mouth. He dropped it to the floor but just as the embers were extinguished on the stones, Zelda exhaled. Plumes of smoke billowed around his face, so cloying that he fought not to choke on them. 

He coughed, waiving his hand to clear the air in annoyance. But as the smoke had dissipated, his wife's came into focus in front of him, exquisite, placid and serene as ever. 

She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, smiling demurely. Faustus brushed aside his concerns as he had the cloud of smoke. After all, clearly, he had his wife entirely under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am usually pretty crap at endings, so, let me know what you think. Thank you to everyone who commented and read along until the end.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed reading this (because you are dark and twisty like me), please leave a comment. 
> 
> Find me at the same username on tumblr.


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